Deacon sat in the darkness and thought. He could not live like this. There had to be a solution. As always, he turned to his books. There he would find something. There was always something. He scanned page after page of volume after volume, stopping only when the sun appeared to the east. An unrested mind did no good.
#
With the sky lightening, the group could not afford to travel any further. In order to improve their odds of escaping detection, they had let the horses free and continued on foot for the last few hours of night. They now found themselves at the center of a treeless plain. There was no point in the plain that could not be seen from one of the many nearby roads. The best cover that they could manage was a low point between two gentle hills. As long as no patrols passed on the western road, they had a chance to remain unseen. There would be no dinner that night. At least, not for Myranda. They couldn't risk a fire, and she couldn't eat meat raw as Myn and Lain did.
The day was spent lying on the cold, snowy ground, trying her best to sleep. She was left once again with the inadequate robe from Entwell, now without even the stolen blanket for warmth, which, combined with the wind that had yet to relent, made sleep all but impossible. Again, this seemed to be a problem only for her. Lain, as usual, did without sleep entirely, as did Desmeres. Myn took up her usual spot and dropped off to sleep instantly. Myranda gave up the fight for sleep and, much to Myn's dismay, joined Desmeres, who was crouched watching the horizon. He seemed to be smiling, an odd reaction given the circumstances.
"What could you possibly be happy about?" she asked.
"There is something on the way that may lend us a hand," he said.
"A friend? I didn't think you had any," she said.
"I said something, not someone," he said.
Myranda glanced about. She couldn't see anything helpful, but she did see something ominous. It was something in the color of the sky, and in the increasing sting of the wind.
"A blizzard is coming," she said nervously.
"Exactly. We will be safe in a blizzard," he said.
"Safe!" she exclaimed, stifling a cry of disbelief. "We are in the middle of a plain, no shelter in sight! How will we be safe?"
"Safe from detection. It would take a lunatic, a fanatic, or an idiot to try to hunt us down in a blizzard. We might even be able to move across a road without being seen," he said.
Myranda thought of lecturing him on the dangers that staying still would entail, let alone traveling, but she knew that her words would fall on deaf ears. She decided to focus on her own survival instead. She pulled to mind a handful of spells that might do something to warm her when the blizzard appeared.
It was not long before the storm began, suddenly and intensely. There was a whipping wind and a wall of snow. Against all logic, the group began to move on. The violent wind, as though it had a devilish mind of its own, blew directly in their faces, slowing their already snail-like pace. Lain's face, or what she could see of it through the snow, seemed to have a minor look of concern. It was barely noticeable, but no emotion left much of a mark on him since he had abandoned the Leo act for his stoic self.
"Keep an eye behind us!" Lain ordered through the piercing wail of the wind.
"Why? There is nothing there but snow. The same as in front of us and on all other sides!" Myranda replied irritably. She stabbed her staff half of its length into the snow and used it as leverage to take another step.
Despite the meager precautions she had taken against it, the cold had robbed her of most of the feeling in her face and limbs. As a lifelong resident of the north, she knew the difference between annoying cold and dangerous cold. The storm had crossed the line. A few minutes more and the cold would do damage. A few minutes after that and the damage would be permanent. Images flashed in her mind of the foolhardy hunters she had known, and the incomplete hands that served as a reminder of just how foolhardy they had been.
Periodically, she would cast a spell she had pieced together from Solomon's teachings to warm her enough to continue for a few more minutes of travel. Myn would puff a few breaths of flame for much the same effect. Desmeres made do with a sip from a flask he carried, and Lain . . . Lain simply made do.
The fresh blanket of snow was already getting thick. It was impossible to tell in just what direction they were heading. Every way they looked returned the same white maelstrom. Even the veritable sixth sense for direction that Myranda had picked up from her life of travel in the sunless north seemed to desert her. Their only hope to stay heading in the correct direction was to keep going straight into the wind. That meant trudging through drifts rather than walking around them. Before long, every step was an effort.
"How far to the safe house?" she cried out to Desmeres, trying to resist the urge to gulp the freezing air with her mouth. One pure breath of air this cold would ruin her lungs.
"I think that it is a small distance down the road at the end of this plain. If we were still on horseback, we might have reached it in half a day! Now . . ." He trailed off. Even his impenetrable confidence seemed to be wavering.
"Now we are going to die out here!" she yelled.
"Now, now, we are not going to die!" he called back. The tone of his voice made it seem as though he was trying to convince himself. He was rummaging for something in the pockets of his jacket.
"She will not die, because my orders are to take her alive," came a voice from behind them.
There behind them was General Teloran. She stood tall, with the ageless grace and unmarred beauty shared by all elves, dressed in her full Elite armor. Only the helmet was missing, torn away by Myn in a prior encounter and not replaced. The wind, coming from in front of them, had carried no trace of her scent. The snow and wind had concealed her approach.
A thousand questions flooded the minds of the group. Whether it was fanaticism, lunacy, or idiocy that motivated her, Trigorah had followed. The faintly glowing gems set in the blade of her sword flickered, signifying that some sorcery had provided the means. For a moment, only the whistling of the wind could be heard as all present stood anxiously waiting. The next sound was the hiss of Lain's sword as he drew it free. He knew not to wait for threats, for bargaining, for trickery. The pair simply clashed.
Swordplay between two greater masters was a sight seldom seen, and it moved at a speed difficult to imagine. Weapons were a blur as they pushed each other's skills to the limit. Slowly, obscured by the wind, snow, and sheer speed of the combat, the gems on the sword seemed to be gaining in radiance.
"Keep moving! She is here for you!" Desmeres ordered as he pulled his dagger from its sheath with one hand while he continued to rummage in his pocket with the other.
"But we can end this now!" Myranda cried. "There doesn't have to be any more fighting!"
Desmeres ignored her and cautiously approached the battle. He stayed a few steps away, as though he was waiting for something. Then there was a flash. The mystic energies that had been building in Trigorah’s sword were released in a bolt. Lain expertly maneuvered his sword to block the attack, but the white-blue bolt seemed to shatter on contact with the enchanted blade. Shards of light scattered in all directions. A fair amount struck Lain, searing the white clothes he wore black. Only a slight tremor in his limbs and a cringe on his face betrayed the savage pain that was tearing though his body. He took a step back as Trigorah took a hand from the blade and put it behind her back. Desmeres quickly took Lain's place. His small dagger seemed no match for the sword, but Trigorah readied her weapon as though an entire army faced her.
"Desmeres. I thought you were more intelligent than this. To be seen with that beast. He is an enemy of the state. Even if there was not a standing order for your death, I should kill you for associating with him," she said.
"You can try," he said, pulling out a small vial from his pocket. At the sight of it, she backed away several steps.
"She is ours. It is treason to interfere with the actions of the Alliance Army. Do not think that you can bar
gain your way out of this," she warned, raising her weapon from a defensive position to an offensive one.
"Oh, the bargaining is already done. The price is set. I am simply awaiting payment. By now you should know our policy. If you send a messenger with a knife in its hand and no gold, we send it back with a knife in its back and no prisoner," he said, breaking the top off of the vial with the dagger. "And I don't see any gold."
The contents of the vial fizzed viciously. Whatever it was that he threatened her with, it had evil-smelling fumes that fought through even the powerful wind to fairly scald the noses of friend and foe alike. In one smooth motion, Trigorah's other hand came back into view. In the palm was one of the crystals that had nearly killed them last time.
"I've got more men nearby. All I care about is my mission, and my mission is the girl. I don't care if you, the dragon, or the malthrope die. I may even get killed in the blast. So long as the girl survives, my men will find her," Trigorah said.
"Fine then. Let us just see whose toys are more lethal, the Army's or mine," he said.
Slowly he raised the vial. Slowly she raised her crystal. Slowly Lain backed away. When Myranda saw the assassin replace his sword and begin to retreat, she knew that unless something drastic was done to stop them, these two fanatical elves would destroy each other. Without thinking, Myranda rushed between them. She turned to Desmeres to beg him to stop and instantly found an arm across her chest and a blade held offensively to her side.
"What are you doing!?" Desmeres said.
Lain drew his weapon again.
"I am sorry, but this is something I must do!" Myranda said as Trigorah began to pull her away.
Lain leapt forward, ready to strike Trigorah down and reclaim Myranda. In less than the space of a heartbeat, Myranda's head filled with a hundred conflicted thoughts. Finally, in a move based more on instinct than reason, Myranda cast the very same spell she had used to repel Arden the day before. The wind doubled in force and reversed on itself. Thankfully, it was nothing compared to the previous blast, but it was enough to knock Lain out of the air. Trigorah managed to make it a few more steps into the snow, enough to hide those who had moments before protected Myranda, dragging her new prize along. A reddish form fought its way through the swirling wall of white. Myranda prayed that Lain had not made a second leap, for while she may have had the strength to repel him once or twice more, she was not sure she had the heart. Instead, it was something far worse. Myn was following her. There was anger, fear, and confusion in the beast's eyes.
"Myn, no!" Myranda said, tears welling in her eyes and stinging her cheeks with the crackle of ice.
Myranda tried to gently cast the beast away, but the charm that hung at her neck left her unaffected.
"Please, Myn! Stay with Lain. I am sorry. I will come and find you again, I swear, but please, let me go now," Myranda pleaded with the creature. She could see Trigorah's hand tightening around her sword's grip. If the little dragon drew much closer, the weapon would not remain still.
The dragon stood, trembling from a mixture of cold and anguish. Everything inside the beast told it to follow, to save the one human she cared about, but that one human told her to stay. If it was what Myranda wanted, then it would be done. The noble creature stood and watched as her protector in her earliest days slipped away through the snow. When Myranda was gone from sight, and the faint sounds of crunching hooves through snow had disappeared, she turned longingly to Lain, who now stood by her. He did not follow either. Instead, he looked on with uncertainty in his eyes.
"Do not follow," said Desmeres as he made his way to them. "Trigorah knows me well. She'll know that if she doesn't pay, we will come to get her. If she does her job, she will know where to find us."
Looking to the vial, Desmeres tossed it into the snow. It landed out of sight, but brilliant flashes of red and blue managed to color the snow for nearly a minute as the contents of the container took effect.
"That was the antipode vial. I'd never tested it before. I intended it to invert the temperature of whatever it touches. Interesting. It apparently continues to do so until the mana is spent. Back and forth between freezing and burning. Can you imagine how effective that would have been on a living target?" he said, though Lain had continued in the direction of the safe house, the dragon in tow. Desmeres stood for a moment, considering the possibilities before following.
Chapter 9
Myranda was thrown onto the back of a horse and was being whisked along in moments. She and her "captor" cast nervous glances behind them, even as four other Elites appeared out of the rushing snow to join them. In minutes, they reached the road where Myranda and the others had left their horses a day earlier. As they continued along the road, an ominous form she knew all too well emerged from the wall of white. A black carriage. Trigorah leapt from the horse's back and threw open the doors. Before Myranda could step in, the general turned to her.
"Staff!" she demanded.
Myranda gave it to her. It was quickly thrown into the dark interior. Myranda took a step to follow it.
"No!" Trigorah quickly reprimanded. "Up front with me."
She opened the door and shoved Myranda inside. A soldier who had been standing guard by the door had already climbed onto the horse she had ridden. Trigorah stepped up on the running board of the carriage and turned to her men.
"Listen! We do not stop moving until we are inside the fort! Speed will not be enough to protect us if that beast chooses to follow! If there is even the hint of his appearance, we face him together! The carriage will continue without us! Do not face him alone! He has taken too many of your brothers-in-arms! If that blade of his touches you, it will already be stained with my blood, that much I can assure you!" she dictated before ducking inside.
Once inside, she continued to issue orders.
"Turn around and put your arms behind your back!" she demanded.
Myranda obeyed. Her wrists were quickly and securely bound.
"Now face me!" she ordered.
Myranda turned and a collar of sorts was snapped into place around her neck. It bore a jewel much like the one that was fitted to the end of her staff. As soon as it touched her skin, she felt an odd sensation. It was faintly painful, as though someone was pressing on a half-healed bruise. She turned her mind to healing the pain, only to feel it increase to a sharp, piercing burn that did not subside until she broke concentration.
"What is this?" Myranda asked.
"A precaution. Unless you enjoy agony, I would advise against using any sort of magic," she said.
The carriage lurched to a speed far faster than the designers had intended. It rocked and bounced so violently, Myranda felt certain it would flip over. As she tried to remain in her seat in the passenger cabin, a space clearly intended for one, she could feel the gaze of her captor. Trigorah's eyes were locked on Myranda, almost burning with intensity. The sound of rushing wind, pounding hooves, and creaking wood filled the cabin, but still there seemed to be a painful silence that only a voice could break. After all, Myranda had dreaded this woman, running in fear from her and her subordinates. Now, only a short time after deciding that she could be an ally, she sat beside her. Myranda spoke.
"It was kind of you to allow me to ride here with you. I have spent time in the rear of a carriage like this before. It was--" Myranda began.
"Do not mistake caution for kindness. You have escaped from me too often to be left unsupervised," she said.
Immediately the silence seemed to push the tumult of wind and hoof back outside. Myranda spoke again.
"I know why you wanted to find me. I want to help you," Myranda assured.
"I wanted to find you because I was ordered to," she answered. "You can save your pleading and groveling for my superiors--if you make it that far."
"Surely they told you why they wanted me. Surely you asked," Myranda said.
Trigorah sat silently.
"You must have questions," said the girl.
"Many
, but it is not my place to ask questions. I am not the interrogator. You will meet him again soon enough. After being assaulted by you, I am sure he will be pleased to meet you again," she said.
"Again . . . Arden? Arden is the interrogator?" Myranda asked.
The general was again silent. She reached out and snatched away the bag that Myranda had dropped when she entered. After pulling the dagger out and eying it briefly, she placed it back inside and scowled.
"You do not have the sword," she fumed.
"No, I haven't had it since Lain first captured me," Myranda explained.
"Lain . . ." she hissed. It was the first she'd heard of her target's name.
Trigorah's scowl somehow turned even more serious. Myranda could tell by her look that she was contemplating how best to attain the sword.
"The only way to get the sword and stop them from following is to--" Myranda began.
"Pay them. I know," Trigorah interrupted.
The general turned the idea over in her mind again and again. To pay was to fail, to admit that she could not do as she was ordered. And yet, the price had been so high already. The best of her men and the better part of a year had been spent in pursuit of this girl and the blasted sword she'd taken. Perhaps the time had come.
"It must be done," she said.
"Excellent. Once you pay Desmeres, we can attempt to convince Lain to--" Myranda planned enthusiastically.
"Quiet! Your future depends entirely upon what the other generals decide. I will deal with Lain when the time comes," she snapped.
There was a defensive tone to her last comment. Myranda had quickly learned how much General Teloran valued duty. After spending so much time attempting to apprehend Lain, it must have become an obsession.
"How long have you been after Lain?" Myranda asked.
Again, silence was the only answer--a silence that would not be broken for hours. The carriage stopped only once, only long enough to change horses. The cabin was hardly a luxurious one, built to keep those outside out, and those inside in. As a result, there was barely a slit for a window. Myranda tried to turn her mind from the hunger that had been steadily gnawing away at her. Periodically, she would glance at the general.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 54